You told me to wait and hope; do you know what you did, unfortunate adviser? I waited a month, or rather I suffered for a month! I did hope (man is a poor wretched creature), I did hope.
Maximilien throws the Count’s creed back at him, showing how patience can feel like cruelty when grief is fresh. The irony bites: “wait and hope” is wisdom in general but agony in the moment. His words are honest, not disrespectful; they force the Count to measure the human cost of his carefully staged plan. The confession humanizes Maximilien as more than a romantic hero—he’s a person in pain. Readers feel their own memories of waiting for news that didn’t come. The novel uses this protest to make the later relief feel earned. Hope, it turns out, needs tenderness to stand.